


Permission to Surrender

by The_Kinky_Pet



Series: Surrender [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Virginity, prompt: loving dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kinky_Pet/pseuds/The_Kinky_Pet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have to be so careful, so in control as Captain America.  If I don’t pay attention to my strength, I could hurt someone.  As a commander, I have to keep on top of things, give orders, take responsibility.  I wouldn’t want my life to be any other way, but sometimes,” Steve hesitated, “I’d like to let go.  Let someone else be in charge, make the decisions, give the orders.”  </p><p>In which Steve has no difficulty trusting Tony, but Tony may have some trouble trusting himself . . .</p><p>Inspired by this Avengers kinkmeme prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/11065.html?thread=24576057t24576057</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Разрешение сдаться](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313330) by [WTF_Avengers_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Avengers_2017/pseuds/WTF_Avengers_2017)



“You were awfully quiet earlier, Cap,” Tony said, sauntering over to where Steve stood looking out the window at the New York skyline. “Too modest to share tales of your sexual exploits with the team? Didn’t soldiers talk like that in the barracks back in your day?”

Steve didn’t bristle like he might have a year ago. He just gave Tony a little smile and shrugged. “Sure they did, but I didn’t join in then either.” Tony took a sip of scotch and raised one eyebrow. “I mean, that would require some sexual exploits to talk about, wouldn’t it?” Tony’s other eyebrow shot up in surprise. Steve sighed and turned back to the window, listening as Tony walked away. 

A rattling at the bar and Tony returned with a second scotch for Steve. He accepted the drink without protest. He’d finally realized that Tony didn’t care if he drank it—it was just an expression of hospitality, an overture for conversation, a shared prop Tony found helpful. Tony dragged two weird leather armchairs over to the huge window. 

“Sit with me. Drink with me. Talk with me,” Tony said, gesturing. (Steve wondered if he was quoting something; it was often hard for him to tell with Tony.) He took a seat.

“So,” Tony said after a few moments contemplating the evening in silence. “No exploits to speak of?”

Steve shrugged. He hadn’t talked to any of the Avengers about this stuff yet. Tony was the only one he could imagine saying it to. Tony wouldn’t judge—he wasn’t that kind of man. Besides, he was Steve’s best friend. He’d be nice about it. (And perhaps someday Steve could tell him what he *really* wanted to say…)

“Nope,” Steve said, swirling his drink and watching it leave long, thick legs on the glass. “None to speak of. Literally. ‘Cause even if I had gotten . . . some experience . . . back with the Howling Commandos, speaking of it would have got me dishonorably discharged.” 

Tony was known for talking a mile a minute and never shutting up, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a good listener from time to time. When it really counted. Tony sat quietly and took another sip of his drink. 

“Things were different then,” Steve said softly. “I thought I was sick for wanting men. For the things I wanted. I would never have said anything.” 

“And now?” Tony asked just as quietly. 

“Now, I know better,” Steve said it firmly, with conviction. “I’m not sick and what I want doesn’t make me weak.”

The lights in the penthouse were dimmed low so he could admire the view of the city skyline. Steve could see the arc reactor shining through Tony’s black t-shirt. The blue glow was steady and comforting. 

“And what is it you want?” Tony asked, leaning forward in his seat. Then he leaned back again and added, “not that you need to tell me. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand.”

Steve smiled. “Tony, you’re the best friend I’ve made in this crazy new millennium. If I couldn’t tell you, who could I tell?” He looked a little wistful as he added, “Though I doubt I’ll get what I want.” 

“You never know,” Tony said very seriously. The air was thick between them. 

“I bet I might shock you,” Steve said, trying to make his voice playful, lighten the tension. 

“Go ahead and try!” 

“I—“ It was harder to start talking than he thought it would be. Best back up to the beginning. 

“I have to be so careful, so in control as Captain America. If I don’t pay attention to my strength, I could hurt someone. As a commander, I have to keep on top of things, give orders, take responsibility. I wouldn’t want my life to be any other way, but sometimes,” Steve hesitated, “I’d like to let go. Let someone else be in charge, make the decisions, give the orders.” 

Steve paused. Tony was completely silent and Steve couldn’t quiet bear to look over at him. If he did, Steve might well lose his nerve.

“I’d want him to take control. I’d want him to tie me down, pin me in place so I could barely move.”

Steve heard Tony’s breath hitch a little and he turned to look at his friend. (I can do this, he thought.) 

“I’d let him tell me what to do and I’d like it because it was what he wanted; I wouldn’t have to think about it, just obey. And I’d know that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, not the bad kind of hurt, because I’d be his and that means he would take care of me.” 

Tony stared at him, eyes wide and very bright in the light of the arc reactor. He was taking long, steady breaths as Steve spoke.

Steve leaned forward and tilted his head down, then looked up at Tony from under his lashes. “I’d kneel at his feet and I’d beg him for it. I’d want him to fill me up and make me take it.”

Steve was inching to the edge of his chair, nearer and nearer to Tony. 

“I want to surrender.” 

Tony’s mouth had dropped open a little as Steve drew nearer. Tony swallowed loudly, then said, “wow,” and looked away. 

And just like that, the spell was broken. The thing building between them fell, the cord of communion snapped. 

“That sure is intense, Cap,” Tony said. His voice was too loud in the dark room after the soft intimate words. “And you haven’t shocked me, so you lose that bet. I am surprised, though.” He took a quick sip of his drink, suddenly awkward and fidgety. “But I wouldn’t be such a pessimist about it. Lots of people are into that stuff now—you could find someone like that easy. You’re an amazing guy, in pretty much every way. And that totally independent from the Captain America and the perfect body stuff. There are tons of guys who’d kill to have you!”

“Something like that takes a lot of trust.” Steve said, voice still quiet. (Oh god, was he really going to do this? Now?)

“Well sure,” Tony said. He was looking around the room and Steve could see it immediately—he was looking for an exit. 

“Tony,” Steve said, pitching his voice low, demanding that Tony turn and look at him. He did. He looked a little lost. “Tony, there’s only one person I trust that much.”

Tony just kept staring at him.

Steve slid to his knees. He looked up at Tony, trying to put everything he couldn’t seem to say into the way he looked at his friend.

Tony shook his head, mouth open, and for a second Steve felt a burning stab of disappointment before Tony blurted, “I can’t even be trusted with plants!” 

Steve chuckled. “I’m not a plant, Tony.” 

“I know that! But . . . but,” Tony was struggling, mouth opening and closing like a fish, and if Steve hadn’t been so dreadfully nervous it would have been really, really funny. “Nobody should trust me. You shouldn’t trust me.”

“Too late,” Steve said gently. “I already trust you.” 

(God, he’d done this all backwards, hadn’t he? Maybe telling Tony he was gay, and wanted to be dominated, and, oh by the way, could it please be you, all at once was a bit much. He should get up. He should apologize. This wasn’t what Tony wanted. ) 

“Why me?” Tony asked helplessly. 

Steve let out a sad little laugh and looked away. “I thought you knew. I thought I’d been so obvious.” He forced himself to look up at Tony. “I love you.” 

(Shit, shit, shit! He hadn’t meant to say that. Not yet! Not like that!) 

Tony Stark was speechless. And staring at him again. (Oh God, he’d made a horrible mistake.) 

Steve looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. I’m sorry, I’ll just—” He started gathering himself up to get to his feet, so he could retreat and—

A hand pressed heavily on Steve’s shoulder, keeping him on his knees.

“Stay.” 

Steve let out a long slow breath, some of the tension draining out of his body. Tony ran his fingers through Steve’s short hair and pressed Steve’s head against his knee. He relaxed into the touch. 

“I’ve never done this,” Tony confessed, his voice hesitant. “If—if I can’t do *this,* can’t give you what you want, can’t be what you want—“ His hand stilled on Steve’s neck and his voice dropped, “—would you still want me?” 

“Yes,” Steve said confidently. “Always.” 

Tony let out his own sigh of relief and started petting Steve’s hair again. (And doesn’t that just make him want to *purr*?) Tony’s knee was warm and solid under his cheek, his fingers gentle and soothing on Steve’s neck. They sat like that for several long minutes and Steve savored them. 

“I’m afraid I’d let you down,” Tony admitted. The words seemed to fall heavily from Tony’s mouth. Steve started to reassure him, but Tony shushed him and tightened his hand on Steve’s neck for a second. “I worry I won’t deserve your trust. But I want to.”

Steve smiled and rubbed his cheek against Tony’s thigh. He let himself drift in his own thoughts while Tony pet him. Steve understood that reassurances would be meaningless to Tony right now, but he knew Tony better than he knew himself. He was sure of it. Tony may be bad at taking care of himself, but when it came to others he was a natural. He was brilliant. He was brilliant at everything he turned his attention to and Steve desperately hoped that, for a while at least, that could be him. 

“Steve, look at me.” 

Steve obeyed immediately and it felt wonderful. Tony looked down at him with something like awe, then caressed Steve’s face with light fingertips for a few moments before tipping Steve’s chin up. He leaned forward slowly to press his lips to Steve’s in a chaste kiss. 

(Steve’s blood was pounding and he wanted to open his mouth, press up into Tony’s kiss, hot and demanding, but he didn’t. He wanted Tony to do it. He could wait.)

Tony pressed his forehead to Steve’s and whispered, “Okay. We’ll try this.” He ran his hands over Steve’s neck and shoulders, then added, “But not tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. I need to think.” He kissed Steve again, then said, “Go to bed, Steve.” 

Tony watched him with a pensive smile as Steve nodded and got to his feet, suddenly aware of how tired he was. He smiled at Tony and, feeling bold, kissed him on the cheek before turning towards his room. He could feel Tony’s gaze lingering on him as he walked; it felt like a caress.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony wasn’t sure how long he sat staring out at the skyline. (He seemed to do a lot of that lately, but whatever. And, what the fuck? No, seriously—did that just happen? Holy shit.)

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Am I awake?”

“Yes, sir.” (And did JARVIS need to sound so amused?)

“So that really just happened?”

“If by ‘that’ Sir is referring to a conversation about romance and sexuality with Captain Rogers, then yes.” 

Tony set his drink down and rubbed his goatee. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Tony flung himself from his armchair. “Coffee, JARVIS! I’m gonna need lots of coffee!” 

***

Steve had expected to sleep badly. He usually slept badly, troubled by nightmares or unable to fall asleep. Last night though he’d fallen asleep almost immediately and slept until morning without any nightmares. Steve stretched languorously. It was easy to know why. He’d finally told Tony. The unspoken words had been a constant weight, a dark churning in Steve’s gut, and letting them out, having Tony looking down at him with awe, just that had made him feel so free. And Tony had kissed him! They were going to try this. They really were. Steve smiled to himself. (And it was absurdly, unrealistically romantic, but it felt like Tony told him to sleep, so he did. And he had slept well.) 

Breakfast! He’d make Tony breakfast. He’d bring it to him in bed. (No, wait. Too much, too soon? But Tony did need to eat...) It was only 7 am, late for Steve and early for Tony. He’d go for a run. 

***

When Steve got back from his run, there was no sign of Tony. He poked his head into the man’s bedroom. (The door was open, so that wasn’t weird. He’d been doing that, checking in on Tony for ages!) His bed was rumpled, but whether that was from last night or another night was impossible to know since Tony never cared about having his bed made. 

Well, there was no rush. He didn’t usually see Tony for breakfast, it just would have been nice.

He’d go ask Clint to spar for a while.

***

Tony didn’t show up for lunch.

***

When dinner rolled around and Tony still hadn’t shown up, Steve decided he was being ridiculous. Tony wasn’t avoiding him. He was a busy man. No need to panic.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Could you please tell me where Tony is?”

“Sir is in his workshop.” 

Steve smiled. Of course he was. (Idiot.) Tony probably had some new inspiration for throwing knives or arrows or armor or an Iron Man upgrade at three in the morning. Everything was fine. Steve challenged Bruce to a game of chess. 

***

It was 11 pm and there was no sign of Tony. (But, you said we’d talk tomorrow…) Not that holing up in his workshop was unusual in any way. (But, you said we’d talk tomorrow…) Steve loved that Tony was so dedicated to his work. (Even if he did wish the stupid genius would take better care of his health.) Usually, Steve would gather up his sketchbook and go down to watch Tony soldering and welding and throwing glowing schematics around. (Sometimes, with the blues and greens and reds, they reminded Steve of stained glass windows.) Somehow, tonight, though he couldn’t quite turn his steps towards the workshop. (He really shouldn’t interrupt.)

Steve didn’t want to change Tony. He loved Tony.

(But, you said we’d talk tomorrow…)

Steve went to bed. He did not sleep well. 

***

Steve was entirely unsurprised to find that Tony did not resurface for breakfast. (Normal. Totally normal.) Or lunch. (Normal still.) JARVIS assured him that Tony was working on a project and, though he agreed that Tony’s propensity for sleep-deprivation was not ideal, Sir was in no immediate danger. 

Steve went for a run. He read the paper front to back. He destroyed a punching bag, one of the fancy ones Tony had made for him. (Oops.) He went for another run, but it was pointless. (You can’t outrun your thoughts, Rogers. Idiot.) 

***

When dinner came around again, Steve was disappointed that Tony didn’t show up. He loved Bruce’s spaghetti. He hated to miss it. (Maybe Tony really was avoiding him. Even at the price of spaghetti. No, wait. That was ridiculous. Right?) Steve could barely make it through his second plate; the worry had killed his (usually massive) appetite. 

“He’s fine, Steve,” Bruce said with a smile and a shrug. “You know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed without conviction, pushing his plate away. “But, I think I’d better fix up a plate and take it down to him.” 

Bruce beamed. “Excellent idea.” 

Steve heaped a starved-scientist-sized portion onto a plate and, after a moment’s hesitation, swung by his room to grab the bag with his sketchpad and pencils. (Tony often let Steve stay in the workshop to sketch. He would even turn down his music.) 

“Workshop please, JARVIS,” Steve requested. (Tony teased him for saying please and thank you to his AI, but really good manners were never a waste. Besides, he wanted JARVIS to like him. JARVIS was very important to Tony.) 

Steve stepped out of the elevator and took a sharp, panicked breath. 

The workshop windows were in black-out mode. (Shit, shit, shit!) Tony always left the windows clear unless he was doing something reckless and self-destructive, usually with heavy machinery and large quantities of alcohol. 

Steve fumbled at the code box, drawing a momentary blank on his passkey. His stomach churned. He’d been doing so well! What could have set Tony off? 

(Brilliant question, idiot. You know Tony stinks at emotional stuff and has trouble letting people in. But, hey, no pressure or anything—I’m just gay and in *love* with you and want you to take control of me. Oh, and I’ve never done anything with a man before, but, seriously, no pressure. Idiot.) 

Steve took a deep breath and focused. Passkey: 9934588344. The door slid open. 

Tony was not passed out on the floor, or drunk, or even operating heavy machinery. He was surrounded by glowing schematics and he was typing furiously, in full-on, crazy-genius-project mode, practically vibrating with manic energy, his eyes bright and glowing. He was surrounded by abandoned, half-empty coffee cups, but one was still steaming right by his elbow. The floor was littered with energy bar wrappers. 

Steve let out a long sigh of relief and reveled in the sight. He loved seeing Tony like this, so completely in his element. Steve glanced around the room at the projections. His breath hitched. 

Over Tony’s shoulder, was a paused video: a muscular man with cropped blond hair knelt on the floor, naked, his head bowed and his body covered in intricate patterns of rope, pinning his arms at his side.

Steve’s heart raced. 

To Tony’s right, another screen had a list of book titles—The Loving Dominant, SM 101—a realistic introduction, The Master’s Guide, etc—and then branching off of that screen were the ebooks, their “pages” covered in Tony’s virtual post-it notes, messy scrawlings, like “maybe?”, “design, flawed,” “practice on self?”, “looks impractical” and “ask S.”

To Tony’s left was a projection with a catalogue from JT’s Stockroom. (The images made Steve blush.) Then there was a huge alphabetical spreadsheet starting with “ass play, anal sex, begging, blindfolds, bondage” and going all the way, several pages later, to “uniforms, vibrators, watersports, wax play, whips;” then it had columns across the top for “love, like, curious, dislike, hard limit.” 

Steve stood, staring at the glowing projections and at Tony who was still typing, bright-eyed and beautiful. 

Tony hadn’t been avoiding him. He’d just been engrossed in a new project. And the project was . . . *Steve.*

Steve swallowed hard and felt his eyes prickle. (I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you . . . )

Tony stopped typing. He bit his lip and stretched, rolling his shoulders and glancing around the room.

“Steve!” Tony cried, delighted. Then he added, with similar delight, “Spaghetti!”

Spaghetti?

Steve looked down, feeling like a bit of an idiot. (He’d actually forgotten he was holding that. It was a miracle he hadn’t squeezed too hard and shattered the plate. Or let the pasta slide off of it. Or dropped it in surprise.)

“Yeah,” Steve said, trying to gather his wits. “I thought you could use some dinner.” 

“Dinner?” Tony scratched his head, roughly pulling a tangle out of his hair. “Huh. What time is it? How long have I been down here anyway?”

Steve set the pasta on Tony’s workbench, handed him the fork, then took a seat. (On *his* stool-- the one that appeared shortly after Steve started hanging around Tony’s workshop.)

“Tony, it’s eight pm.” Tony shoveled pasta into his mouth, and Steve added, “on the 12th.” 

Tony swallowed. “Oh.” He paused mid-twirl, fork deep in the pile of spaghetti. “Guess I got a little wrapped up in what I was doing.” He glanced over at Steve. 

(It wasn’t an apology, not really, but Steve knew exactly what *those* words, and *that* tone, and *that* look all meant, so really it was.)

“It’s okay. I figured you had a project.” 

“Yeah.” Tony took another bite, eating more slowly now. He looked pensive, his eyes flickering around to the projections from time to time. Steve was content to sit and watch him eat in silence. Tony’s brow furrowed. He was nearly done with the whole plate when he looked up and said, tone mostly joking, but with a hint of worry underneath, “What are *you* doing bringing *me* food, anyway? Isn’t that supposed to be my thing now?” 

Steve laughed-- a startled, amused bark, loud in the quiet workshop. 

“Tony!” Steve said, still chuckling. “I’ve never been the one who forgets to eat! I’m not going to start all of a sudden and need looking after like that.” He smiled. “Lord help us both if you were in charge of food and sleep.”

Tony nodded and he looked so clearly relieved that Steve added, “I’m still *me* you know.” (It came out a little sharper, with more of an edge, than he’d meant for it to, but damnit--)

“I know that!” Tony said. “Steve, of course I know that. I didn’t mean—“ Tony floundered for a moment, then said more softly, “I still don’t really know what you want.”

“I want you.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I mean—“

Steve reached across the workbench and took Tony’s hand. Tony fell silent at the touch. “Tony, I want you.” He waved a hand at the projections. “The rest is just details.”

They stared at each other, motionless, for a long moment then Tony launched into action. He slid the plate away and lunged across the workbench. His arm shot out to grab Steve by the neck and drag him forward. Tony pressed his mouth—*hard*—against Steve’s then started nipping at his lips. (Oh God.) Steve gasped-- his lips parted and Tony’s tongue was in his mouth, touching Steve’s, and it was all rough, wet heat that went straight to Steve’s cock. There wasn’t enough air. Steve kissed back frantically, tongue in Tony’s mouth and it was amazing and hot and Tony’s hand was a firm weight on his neck and Steve could feel his face scalding. 

When Tony pulled back, Steve was panting more than he ever did after a run. Tony scattered kisses on his face, speaking low and rough. “I’m a genius. I’m gonna be brilliant at this,” Tony said, his voice hot against Steve’s skin, punctuating the kisses. “You’ll fucking love it—you’ll beg for more. I’m—we’re—gonna be amazing.” (And Steve knew he wasn’t the one Tony was trying to convince.)

Steve squeezed Tony’s hand. 

“I know.”

Tony took a calming breath. “Yeah? Well, we . . . we still have to talk about this.”

(God, no. Don’t make me put it in words!)

Steve could just barely tell Tony what he wanted, in general terms, in the dark, with the moon and the nightscape and a glass of scotch. Here, in the bright lights of the workshop, sitting at his usual bench-- just the thought of it made him feel terribly . . . exposed.

Steve nodded. (Don’t talk! Kiss me like *that* again!)

“Okay. Good.” Tony still looked a little flustered. “ ‘cause, you have to tell me what you want and you really have to tell me what you *don’t* want.”

Steve nodded again.

Tony looked at him expectantly and he could feel himself blushing again.

“Steve,” Tony said after a long silence, his tone reassuringly joking. “For me to be a good listener, you have to actually be talking.”

Steve nodded, then forced himself to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, I know that.” He bit his lip. “Just, not here, like this. It’s—” he stuttered, “it's hard. To, to put in words.”

“Sure, yeah. I get that, but I’m pretty sure that it’s, you know, essential.” Tony gestured to the glowing, floating pages. “Seriously, it’s a good thing that the phrase ‘clear communication’ isn’t copyrighted, ‘cause if it were none of these books could afford to be published!” Steve smiled. “But, really, is now a good time? Are you busy or something?”

“I’m not busy.”

“Good! Great.” Tony’s eyes flickered around the room at the projections for a moment, then turned back to Steve. “Here. *You* go change into your pajamas and, you know, get ready for bed. And I’ll see you in—” Tony looked up, running mental calculations, “twenty minutes. Okay?”

Steve nodded. (He did a lot of that.) “Okay.” He slid off his stool and started to turn for the door.

“Steve!”

He turned again to face Tony, who stalked around the workbench. He reached up to cup Steve’s face in both hands and kissed him gently on the lips.

“See you soon.”

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your encouragement! I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Good. Great. Yes. Better get out of here. Dummy-- you can’t just interrogate Steve under bright lights in the workshop. And Jesus, there should probably be roses and champagne and soft old timey music and all that romance stuff. Or would that be weird? Too much? Gah. (Would it be okay to ask Pepper? Yeah, no. Definitely not.) All that stuff was pretty cliched. (And it says something that he kinda wants to do it anyway…) 

Tony took a deep breath. Shit. Earlier, surrounded by glowing screens and digital shopping carts and video clips, it had been easier to think of this as an exciting new type of research project. But this wasn’t just a project and, self-delusional and emotionally stunted or not, Tony knew he couldn’t pretend otherwise. 

Steve had laid his cards on the table and now it was only fair that Tony do the same. 

“JARVIS? Time?” 

“8:34 pm, Sir.” And JARVIS continued before Tony could even ask, “And Captain Rogers left the workshop at 8:27.” (God he loved his AI.) 

What he really wanted was a drink, but he had a feeling Steve would want something more like chamomile tea. Or hot chocolate. (And Tony refused to find that adorable. Really.) 

Hot toddies. The happy medium. 

“Keep an eye on things for me, guys,” he called to his bots as he left the workshop. In the elevator he took deep, calming breaths. Really, he could do this. He just needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts. 

And, huh. It was the 12th? Tony sniffed his armpit. Yeah. Time for the world’s fastest shower. (And, yeah, *cold* shower. Good idea anyway.) Then hot toddies. 

***

Hair still damp, Tony padded barefoot to the kitchen wearing a fresh black tank top and those grey yoga pants Pepper got him. (They apparently made his ass look fantastic.) Brandy, honey, lemon, cinnamon sticks. Tony put the kettle on and rummaged around the kitchen. They had an overwhelming variety of tea since Bruce moved in. Steve only liked green tea with Chinese food, though, so better do black tea. Maybe decaf? 

“Oh, there you are,” Bruce said, pouring water from the kettle. (Huh. Where did he come from? And was he ever *not* drinking tea?) “Glad to see you’ve resurfaced.” 

Tony hmmm-ed and waved at him absently. Nothing too smokey. Maybe decaf earl grey? Bergamot could be good. 

“You know,” Bruce continued. “Steve frets when you disappear like that and don’t eat.” 

Tony shrugged. “He doesn’t fret, he feeds me.”

“Yeah, I guess he does.” Bruce leaned against the counter. “For the past couple of days, though, I’m pretty sure I’d call it *pining*.”

“Bruce,” Tony said, his tone a warming. He tossed tea bags into two mugs and poured. 

“Yes, Tony?” Bruce said, voice serious. 

“Captain America doesn’t pine.” 

“Mmmmm.” Bruce blew on his tea. “If you say so.” 

Tony stirred the hot toddies. He heard Bruce take a breath. (He probably wouldn’t like whatever Bruce was about to say.) But then Bruce was silent. Tony glanced over and found him, his mouth still open, wearing his ‘I’m about to say something meaningful’ face, but just looking at the two mugs. Bruce closed his mouth and smiled, just a tiny bit. 

“Never mind,” Bruce said. “Have a good night, Tony.” 

And with that, Bruce strolled from the kitchen.

“JARVIS? Time?”

“8:46, Sir.” 

(Here goes nothing. )

***

Steve’s door was shut and Tony frowned down at the two mugs in his hands. 

“Steve?” Tony called, and tried to knock gently with his foot. The door was ajar. 

“Come in.” 

Tony nudged the door open and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, with one of the little side lamps, everything immaculately tidy and well-ordered. Steve sat on the edge of his bed wearing smart blue pajamas with white piping. His hands were folded in his lap and as Tony entered he looked up with that shy, awkward smile that was entirely Steve Rogers and nothing Captain America. The sight of it sent a little jolt through Tony. He bumped the door shut with his hip. 

“I made hot toddies.” Tony walked across the room and handed one to Steve who took it, still giving Tony that devastating, fond smile. (It was almost too much. It almost hurt.)

Tony held out his hand. “Hey, hey. Come here.” Tony moved to the head of the bed and pulled Steve along with him. He set his drink down on the nightstand, then settled with his back to the headboard and opened his arms. Steve curled around Tony and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder. Steve took a sip of his drink.

“Mmm. This is really good.” (And okay, Steve sounded a bit surprised, but also pleased so that was nice.) Steve took another sip. He sighed and leaned more heavily against Tony’s body. 

(Yeah, so he likes the hot toddy. It’s just a drink, Tony. Don’t start preening here or anything.)

“Glad you like it.” Tony took a sip of his too and, yeah, it really was tasty. Tony stroked Steve’s side and hip through his pajamas, petting him like a cat, while they silently sipped their drinks. He listened to Steve’s deep, regular breaths. (How long had it been since Tony just held someone quietly like this? Not since Pepper and—okay, not the best train of thought.) Steve finished his drink and set the mug on the nightstand, then curled up even more closely, his left leg looped over Tony’s. Tony took a deep breath.

“Look, I’m no good at talking about feelings and emotions. And I hate doing things I’m not good at.” Steve stirred in his arms.

“Tony, you don’t have to—“

Tony cut him off. “Steve, just listen, okay? I’m not good at it, but I’m going to do it anyway. Or try to. Because you deserve that and what you did on Friday took courage—not the ‘Captain America risks life and limb for justice and the American way’ kind, the other kind. And, at least, for people like us-- or, okay, maybe just me-- I think that’s the hard kind.” 

Tony had been playing everything he should say, everything he wanted to say, on and off, over and over in his mind for two days. Now it was all getting jumbled, but it would have to do. 

“You told me what you wanted and how you felt and I really respect and admire that.” Steve tensed in Tony’s arms. (Huh?) Tony set his drink aside and pulled Steve closer, rubbing little circles on his back and hip. “You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. In fact, I think you’re pretty much my best friend.” 

(Was Steve holding his breath?) 

“I have no idea how that even happened, and until Friday, I honestly had no idea that you felt anything else for me.” (Yeah, hard to say out loud, even when he’d been thinking it for ages. And could Steve be any more tense? Did hearing this stuff freak him out as badly as it freaked Tony out? He thought Steve was good at this sort of thing….)

“You’re amazing and you deserve only the best. And I know I suck at relationships. Seriously. I mean, you’ve seen what I’m like, but that's good, I guess, since it means you understand.” 

Tony took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Steve, I have no idea why you want me, but I’ve wanted you for ages and I never thought—”

Steve let out his breath and the tension eased from his body. (Huh?) Tony kissed the top of his head, holding him tight. (Oh, shit, shit, shit.)

“Steve, hey, hey. What?” Tony said incredulously as he dropped more kisses on Steve’s exposed skin. “Did you think? God, no. Steve. Steve! Come here.” Tony pulled him up to kiss him properly, hands cradling the back of his head. The angle was awkward, but it didn’t matter. Tony licked Steve’s bottom lip and his lips parted instantly under Tony’s. Steve kissed back, a little too hard. (But that was okay.) Tony let Steve explore him, then after a few moments (minutes? hard to say) he gentled the kiss. Steve reached up to caress his cheek and Tony pulled back with a rueful smile. 

“God, I suck at talking about feelings. See? I wasn’t trying to let you down gentle or something. How could you think that?” Tony waved one hand emphatically. “I’m a selfish bastard and I’m sure as shit not letting you get away now that you’ve said you want me. I was *trying* to tell you how I feel about you! And see, I’m already screwing this up.” 

(Please say I’m not. Please?) 

“No! Tony, no. I was being silly. It’s fine.” He smiled up at Tony. “Just. . . kiss me again.” And something playful and flirtatious had come back into his voice and it was simply glorious. Tony grinned.

“Like this?” Tony kissed him on the forehead. 

“Or like this?” Tony kissed him on the cheek. 

“Tony!” 

“Yes, dear?” 

Fuck. How could Steve look like that? All wide blue eyes, pale skin with a bit of a blush, and something unbearably shy and hopeful and innocent in his smile?

(I love you. Shit, shit, shit. I love you.)

Tony kissed him again, chastely and sweetly. (At least that’s what he was going for…) 

“Steve?”

“Mmm…?”

“What do you want?” Tony asked it very quietly then, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out to turn off the light. The arc reactor glowed through his tank top. Steve took his hand. 

“It’s hard to put into words,” Steve said softly. Tony waited. “I tried on Friday.” 

(Oh fuck. Yeah, Friday—‘I want to surrender,’ Steve sliding to his knees, looking up with all that *longing.* Fuck. . . . It was hot and there wasn’t enough air. . . ‘Stay.’) Tony laid his free hand on Steve’s neck, a firm touch, pressing him against Tony the way he had on Friday. (Steve had liked that, hadn’t he?) Steve sighed and it sounded more contented than pained. Tony left his hand there. There was a long silence, but Tony could wait.

“I want you to be the one in control,” Steve finally said into the darkness. “I want to follow orders instead of giving them. I want to please you. I want you to *make* me please you. I want to be yours.”

(How the hell was this his life? No, seriously?)

“Tony?”

“Yeah?” Tony squeezed Steve’s hand.

“I—I’m sorry. That’s probably too vague, but I really don’t—I don’t have much experience, so it’s more like a feeling than specific, er, *acts.* I mean, not that I haven’t thought about those too, but I’m not really sure. . .” 

Tony waited a moment to see if Steve would finish, but when he trailed off Tony stepped in. 

“Steve, can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can.” Steve squeezed Tony’s hand. “Actually, yeah, that would probably be easier.”

(Seriously, dummy, just be direct. “Clear communication,” et cetera.)

“You implied you’d never had sex before. Did I get that right?”

Steve nodded, his head moving up and down against Tony’s thigh. (And, yeah, let’s not get distracted here.)

“And you’ve never fooled around with anyone before?” 

“Tony,” Steve said, sounding part-amused, part-embarrassed, “until tonight I’d never even kissed with tongue.”

Tony’s pulse leapt. Something dark and possessive swelled up inside him at the thought of that. (Mine, mine, mine!) Tony took a deep breath and gave a rueful little chuckle. 

“I probably shouldn’t admit how hot I find that idea, huh?” Tony asked, keeping his tone light.

Steve shook his head. “No. You should. It’s—“ he fumbled, “it’s hot to me too.” Then something emphatic, almost fierce, crept into Steve’s voice: “I’m glad I never did anything before with anyone else.” He paused a beat and added more gently, “I want it to be you.” 

(And fuck-- wasn’t that all kinds of hot and terrifying and wonderful?)

Steve was talking again and doing his awkward little fidget. “I just—I’m not exactly sure—“

“Look, no. Hey,” Tony interrupted. (Yeah. Feelings. They make inarticulate idiots of us all.) “Steve, you don’t have to try and tell me everything you do and don’t want, will and won’t want all at once. That’s overwhelming. Hell, it would overwhelm me too! We can figure things out as we go and, well, I’ve got some ideas.” Tony hesitated. “Actually, I made a spreadsheet.” 

Steve chuckled and pulled Tony’s hand to his lips to kiss it. “Of course you did.” 

“Yeah.” Tony shrugged. “But, right now, I’m in your bed. With you. So, I’m asking what you want. Now. Tonight. And if it’s another hot toddy and a goodnight kiss, that’s fine.”

“And if I want more than a goodnight kiss?” Steve mumbled against Tony’s thigh. 

Tony grinned. “Well, I’m open to that too. But I don’t want to do anything you don’t want or aren’t ready for.” Tony pitched his voice lower. “So, tell me. What do you want?” 

Even in the dim light, Tony could see that Steve was blushing. 

“I want to see you naked,” Steve said roughly. He rubbed his cheek against Tony’s thigh, slowly up then down. Tony’s pulse raced. 

“I want to touch you all over. I want you to touch me.” 

Steve swallowed. 

“I want to make you come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and thanks for your encouragement! (Tony was a bit of a struggle for me.) Hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

Steve held his breath and listened to Tony breathing heavily above him. Steve rubbed his cheek against Tony’s thigh again, desperate to *do something* but unwilling to move without Tony. 

(Oh God. Tony, please, please. . . )

“JARVIS? Lights at twelve percent, please.” 

At Tony's request, the room was suffused with a soft, warm glow.

“Steve.” Tony pulled at his shoulders. “Sit up. I want you to look at me.” 

(Yes. Yes!) 

Steve hastened to turn and kneel on the bed, crouching back to rest on his ankles so he wasn’t quite to his full height. Tony knelt above him, took Steve’s hand, and looked into his eyes.

“Steve. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable or you want to stop at any time, you will tell me.” 

Steve nodded, but Tony shook his head. 

“Say it,” Tony prompted. 

“Yes.” 

Tony’s fingers were warm and soft against Steve’s cheek as he said, “No, promise me. Repeat it back.” 

Steve pressed his cheek against Tony’s lingering palm. “I promise that if I’m uncomfortable or want to stop, I will tell you.” 

“Good.” Tony’s voice sounded breathless and pleased; it was marvelous. “Do you want me to be in charge tonight, right now?”

Steve’s heart leapt. “Yes,” he said, then added a whispered, “please.”

Steve’s cock was hot and aching, and his entire body nearly hummed with tension as Tony raised first one hand then the other to press warm kisses against Steve’s palms. 

“I’ve got you.”

Tony reached out to caress Steve’s cheeks, then his neck, and Steve didn’t know what to do, wasn’t sure if he should move, so he just knelt motionless while Tony caressed him. (And that was fine. It was good. Tony was in charge now. Steve didn’t *need* to know what to do.) 

“You’re gorgeous,” Tony whispered. “Will you let me look at you?” His hands moved to the button at the top of Steve’s pajamas and Steve nodded. His cheeks were burning under Tony’s scrutiny, and it made his stomach twist up in knots—but somehow not in a bad way. Steve panted as Tony undid the buttons one by one, then slowly slid the top off his shoulders and tossed it on the floor. 

Tony ran his hands across Steve’s shoulders, back and forth, then down across his chest. He gasped when Tony stroked his nipples in firm little circles. His cock jumped.

Then Tony scooted closer and pressed his lips to Steve’s and Steve opened his mouth eagerly to let Tony in. His heart raced as Tony moved his tongue, in and out, caressing his. He kissed back. (Probably clumsy, but not hesitant. Never hesitant.) Tony’s fingers were against Steve’s skin, and his tongue was in Steve’s mouth, and it was hot and wet and wonderful.. Steve felt almost lightheaded. He reached out to steady himself, resting his hands on Tony’s shoulders and Tony drew back. (No!)

“You’re amazing,” Tony murmured against Steve’s skin, then bit down on his neck. Steve jerked and let out a whimper. “Shhh. I’ve got you.” Tony ran his hands up and down Steve’s back and covered his chest with kisses, then worked his way back up to nip at Steve’s ear. He plucked at Steve’s bottoms and whispered, “Take them off.” 

Steve hastened to obey. (Oh God. Tony. . . )

Tony drew back the covers and beckoned Steve to climb in beside him. Steve stretched out on the bed. “Good,” Tony said, his voice sultry. “You’re so good, Steve. You’re so good for me.” 

Steve’s breath hitched and Tony reached out to run his fingertips across Steve’s face. 

“Do you like that?” Tony asked. (And that voice was pure sex—it made Steve want to melt.) Tony scooted closer, his body flush against Steve’s nakedness, pressed against his side. Steve nodded. 

“Yeah,” Tony whispered. “You should. Because you’re so good, Steve, and so gorgeous. Look at you.” Tony propped himself up on one elbow to look down at Steve and watch as he caressed Steve from shoulder to hip and back. Steve shivered. “Look at you, stretched out for me, naked and beautiful and mine.” (Yes! Yours! Steve’s mind echoed Tony’s words exultantly.)

Steve moaned and his hips twitched, desperately wanting some sort of friction. 

“Do you like it when I talk to you like this?”

Steve nodded and bit his lip. (Please, please . . .)

“Good.” It felt like Tony’s hands were everywhere, everywhere except Steve’s cock and he desperately wanted Tony to touch him there and he desperately wanted Tony to delay and delay and keep him on edge, blushing and squirming. “You’re so good.” Tony hesitated then whispered, “Good boy.”

Steve turned crimson and, with a groan, he buried his face against Tony’s chest.

“Hey, hey,” Tony murmured, scratching lightly at Steve’s scalp and neck. “Was that a good thing?”

Steve nodded, sharp awkward motions against Tony’s chest, and clutched at him desperately. 

(And why was it good? You say ‘good boy’ to a dog, not your lover, but it didn’t matter, did it? He was making Tony happy. Tony was in charge. ‘Good boy.’) 

“Good.” And Tony sounded so *satisfied* Steve blushed even harder, pressing his face against Tony’s chest and letting himself be petted like a cat. (Or a dog.)

Then Tony’s fingers brushed his cock. Steve cried out and jerked in his arms. 

“Shhh. I’ve got you."

And Tony was stroking his thighs, then down to caress his balls. 

"Good boy. Shhh. You’re beautiful.” 

Steve gasped and spread his legs as Tony’s hand dipped lower. (Yes! Please, please, please. . . ) Steve clutched desperately at his lover. (His lover!)

“Tony.” It came out a breathless whine and then Tony was kissing him hard and fierce while his hands roved Steve’s body. He fondled Steve’s cock with gentle, teasing touches and Steve’s hips jerked up off the bed against his will. “Tony!”

“I'm right here, gorgeous.” Tony drew back to look at him, smiling. 

(You’re so wonderful. So good to me. I love you, I love you, I love you. . . )

“Steve?” Tony looked hesitant. It took Steve a moment to realize Tony was waiting for a reply. 

“Yes?” he whispered. (And why was it so hard to force words out now?)

“Do you still want to see me naked?”

Steve nodded emphatically. Tony smiled at him and gave a small nod in return. 

“Yeah, and of course you can. Just—“ Tony hesitated. He rested his palm, fingers splayed, on Steve’s chest. “You already know about the arc reactor. But knowing about it and seeing it, inside me, up close-- they aren’t really the same thing.” Tony sat back and took the hem of his shirt in his hands, then paused. “I just don’t want you to be surprised. There’s kind of a lot of scaring.” 

“I don’t care,” Steve said instantly, going alert, his stomach twisting. “You know I don’t.”

(Was Tony really scared Steve would find the scars revolting? That he couldn’t show himself to Steve? He loved the arc reactor—it kept Tony alive.) 

Steve reached out and grabbed Tony, pulling him down into a kiss. Tony let out a little huff of surprise, then kissed back. Steve could feel Tony smiling against his lips. After a few moments, he pulled back and Tony gave a little nod. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside. 

(You trust me too. You’re mine too.)

The arc reactor cast a blue glow and even in the dim light Steve could see clearly the thick, knotted scar tissue circling it, and a long deep scar across Tony’s ribs. Steve’s hands twitched towards him, then he paused. 

“Can I touch you?” Steve asked. 

“Of course you can.” Tony laid down next to him, side-by-side. “I’m all yours. Go on—explore to your heart’s content.” 

Steve smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy dance* Excited to post this! I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading and for fueling my writing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I touch you?” Steve asked. 
> 
> “Of course you can.” Tony laid down next to him, side-by-side. “I’m all yours. Go on—explore to your heart’s content.” 
> 
> Steve smiled.

Steve touched Tony’s neck and shoulders, ran his fingers down Tony’s arms. They were all places Steve had laid friendly touches—a pat, a punch, a reassuring squeeze—and ones he’d seen uncovered almost daily. It didn’t matter. In the blue glow of the exposed arc reactor, they had a thrilling newness for him and Steve pushed aside the urgency of his arousal to savor this moment, slowly inching his fingers to the truly unfamiliar. He’d been longing for this moment, imagining it in ink and charcoal. 

Tony’s throat, his collarbone, the curve of his pectoral muscles. The rim of the arc reactor stood out of his chest, only slightly, perhaps an eighth of an inch, and was bordered by a raised knot of thick scar tissue. Steve wanted to worship it with hands and lips and tongue. (This—this keeps you alive. It came from your brilliance. It’s part of who you are. I love it, I love you.) But he didn’t. (Perhaps later...) He mapped Tony’s chest from left to right, neither seeking it out nor avoiding it. He leaned forward for a kiss and Tony practically sighed into his mouth. Steve looped his arm around Tony and explored his back with palms and fingers while they kissed. 

Steve pulled away to retrace the path his fingers had taken with his lips. He left a lingering kiss on the surface of the arc reactor before moving onwards, downwards, over his ribs to his stomach, more and more keenly aware of Tony’s erect cock. Steve touched the waistband of his yoga pants and looked up. 

Tony was staring down at him, mouth parted, panting slightly, his eyes wide and his pupils blown. (I did that. Me.) Tony raised his hips. 

“Take them off.” 

Steve eased Tony’s pants off, careful of his erection, pulling them down his legs, leaving a trail of kisses down the outside of his thigh, his knee, his calf as he went. Steve threw the pants aside and, after a moment’s hesitation kissed Tony’s ankle, the top of his foot, then the delicate arch. Steve worked his way back up between Tony’s legs, lingering between his thighs. 

Steve nosed at Tony’s balls and heard Tony let out a heavy groan. Tony smelled like musk and sex and it nearly gave Steve vertigo. He pulled back to look. 

Tony’s cock was hard and flushed, long and thick, curving slightly to the right from its well-trimmed nest of pubic hair. Pre-cum leaked from the head and Steve panted, open-mouthed. His hot breath hit Tony’s cock and made it twitch. Steve wanted it so badly it almost hurt. (He wanted Tony to grab his head and thrust and thrust, hold him in place and make him take it hard down his throat. Or he wanted Tony to tell him what to do, in his sultry voice—‘Steve, suck my cock, like that, good boy.’) But Tony remained still and silent. Steve looked up to find Tony propped up on his elbows, staring at him avidly. 

“Can I?” Steve asked. 

“Hell yeah.” Tony flopped back with a groan. “Please. Steve!” 

Steve licked Tony’s cock and his heart leap at the sound of Tony crying out above him. He did it again and touched Tony’s balls gently with one hand. (He liked that when he touched himself.) He opened his mouth and took in the head of Tony’s cock, caressing it with his tongue, then easing further down the shaft. Tony’s dick was hot and warm and heavy against his tongue and he felt full, mouth stretched open and it was perfect, perfect, perfect. His mouth watered and he could hear wet little noises as he moved down Tony’s dick. (He’d imagined this when he touched himself, had shoved his fist, his fingers into his mouth and sucked them pretending it was Tony’s cock…)

“Fuck! Steve!”

Steve bobbed his head, easing up, sucking the head, then working back down. He wanted to take it all, take it hard and deep and—Tony’s cock hit the back of his throat and he jerked back, gagging. (Huh. That never happened in videos…) Disappointed, but by no means discouraged, Steve lavished attention on the head of Tony’s cock. (Maybe Tony could teach him how to go farther? Oh God… Yeah… Good thought.) Steve redoubled his efforts.

“Steve!” Tony tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair, but he was pulling him up not pushing him down. Steve whimpered around the cock in his mouth, but let himself be pulled away. “Steve come here, oh my god, fuck, come here,” Tony gasped, dragging Steve up his body to kiss him, practically fucking Steve’s mouth with his tongue. Steve shuddered against him.

Tony grabbed Steve’s hips and (fuck!) pressed their cocks together. Tony’s was wet with pre-cum and spit, slick and hot against Steve’s erection. Tony dug his fingers into Steve’s ass (fuck! yes, yes!) and pulled, rubbing their bodies together, legs, cocks, bellies, chests, long expanses of skin against skin caressing while Tony fucked his mouth. Tony pushed and pulled, rolling his hips, setting a steady rhythm. Steve gasped and his hips bucked against Tony’s. 

Tony pulled his mouth away and took a deep breath. 

“Yeah, just like that, baby,” he whispered, hot and dirty in Steve’s ear. “Good boy.” 

Tony squeezed his ass hard and jerked against him, pulling him harder up and down, kissing him and biting his lips. Steve thrust against Tony’s cock again and again. He felt lightheaded and breathless, whimpers and moans falling from his mouth.

Tony bit down on Steve’s neck and worried the flesh with his teeth. 

Steve gasped and his body went rigid. He cried out and shuddered, shaking apart as he spilled across Tony’s stomach, hips still pumping. His entire body throbbed and ached as the pleasure crashed over him in waves, so intense it almost hurt, until finally he went limp in Tony’s arms, gasping and twitching. 

Steve shivered again and Tony drew the covers up around them. Tony stroked Steve’s back in a slow, steady rhythm and left little kisses on the top of his head. Steve pressed his face to Tony’s chest, breathing deeply, and curled against his side. Steve's whole body felt loose and sluggish and for long, slow pleasant minutes he basked in Tony’s warmth. Finally, Steve tilted his head up to ask for a kiss, to exchange long, languorous swipes of tongue.

Steve must have looked a little dazed when he pulled back, because a moment later Tony asked quietly, “Are you okay?” 

(Okay!? He almost laughed but didn’t have the energy. He was so much better than okay.)

“Yeah.” His voice sounded breathless and amazed. “Wow.” Steve pressed his face to Tony’s chest again and mumbled: “So intense. . . so different . . .”

“From what?” Tony asked.

Steve bit his lip. (Would he ever stop blushing?) “From when I touch myself.” 

Tony groaned. “Someday, I’m gonna have you do that for me and I’m gonna watch you. I’m gonna make you tell me, in detail, what you used to think about when you fucked your fist.” Steve’s breath hitched. (You, Tony. You.) 

Steve shifted in Tony’s arms and realized with a jolt that Tony’s cock was still hard against his thigh. Steve gasped. 

“Tony, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—“

“Shhh,” Tony said, rubbing his neck. “You were glorious. Do you have any idea what it did to me seeing you like that? Watching you let go?” He squeezed Steve’s shoulders, hard. “I’m the first person to make you come. Ever. I did that. God, Steve. I-- ” 

Words apparently failed him, so Tony kissed him hard and long, full of teeth and tongue.

“But, you didn’t come. I didn’t make you—” Steve felt a rush of disappointment, then desire. (Yes, yes, yes!) Steve’s spent cock was already getting hard again just at the thought. . . 

Steve took a deep breath. “Tony!” Steve kissed him, urgent and needy, then rolled over, pulling Tony on top of him. 

“Tony, fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the most detailed sex I've ever written (and I'm still working on more!) Um.... yeah. *blushes and gives you the 'bashful Steve smile'*
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve took a deep breath. “Tony!” Steve kissed him, urgent and needy, then rolled over, pulling Tony on top of him. 
> 
> “Tony, fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! You've truly inspired me and, what started as a little kinkmeme fill, is now a series. I'm very excited about writing this and I'm so grateful for all your encouragement and kindness.

“Tony, fuck me.” 

Tony’s breath hitched as Steve spread his legs and let Tony fall between them. Steve tilted his hips and drew his knees up. 

“Please, I . . .” Steve felt wanton and desperate and out of control. The words poured out of him in a low, filthy whisper that made his cheeks scald and his cock ache. “I want you inside me. I want you to come inside me.” 

Tony was panting heavily and his fingers dug into Steve’s shoulders. Steve lunged up to crush his mouth against Tony’s, wanting Tony’s lips, his tongue, his teeth. Tony took Steve’s head between his hands and took control of the kiss-- slower, gentler. 

Steve squirmed beneath Tony, looking up at him wide-eyed. “Tony,” Steve said, and now it sounded plaintive. “Please, fuck me. I—”

“Shhh,” Tony whispered. He smoothed the hair back from Steve’s forehead. Steve’s brow furrowed. (Huh?)

“I will,” Tony promised softly and Steve shivered beneath him. Tony pressed kisses along Steve’s collarbone, then pulled back to look at him, their faces very close together. (Tony’s eyes were so brown, such a rich color…) “I will, Steve. I want you too, babe.” Tony held his face in his hands again, thumbs caressing his cheekbones. “But are we in some sort of hurry?”

Steve blinked up at him. “Tony,” he said, voice a little desperate, “I know it’s soon, but I want it. I swear, I’m ready. Please, I want you. . .”

(Oh God, he was *begging.* Oh fuck!) Steve’s cock leapt at the thought. He was fully erect again and he was *aching.*

“Hush,” Tony said. (And there was something so *gentle* in Tony’s expression it made Steve’s chest go tight.) 

Tony smoothed Steve’s hair back again. “I want you too. But, you said you wanted me to *make you* please me.” Tony rolled his hips against Steve’s, pace languid and lazy. “Right?” 

Steve bit his lip and nodded. 

“Well, what if,” Tony asked in a sultry whisper, “I want to savor—“ he nipped Steve’s earlobe, “the anticipation?” 

Tony bit Steve’s neck and made his hips buck. 

“What if I have something else in mind?” 

Steve hesitated, then nodded again. (Soon, though, soon. Fuck me, fill me, own me, make me take it. . . Please, Tony, please. . . )

Tony smiled and said firmly: “Steve, put your hands by your head, palms up.” Steve hastened to obey (yes!) and Tony nodded. “Good. Just like that.” 

Tony hesitated a moment, searching Steve’s face. Then Tony closed a hand around each of Steve’s wrists with a firm pressure and pushed himself up off the bed, using his weight to pin Steve’s wrists down. (Oh God, yes!) Tony opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was got lost when Steve moaned and threw his head back. Tony’s smile looked rather smug. 

As Tony lifted himself up higher, it forced Steve’s wrists down harder onto the mattress and put more pressure, more friction on Steve’s hips. (Tony’s hands around his wrists felt like an embrace.) Tony shifted and they were cock to cock again, now slick with Steve’s cum. Tony moved his languorously, up and down, in a slow rhythm. Steve panted and bit back a moan. 

(Tony had him truly pinned, held down-- and of course he could throw Tony off easily, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, because *this* was where Tony wanted him, *this* was how Tony wanted him, and that knowledge kept him pinned in a way Tony’s small frame never could.) 

Steve squirmed beneath him, but didn’t struggle, didn’t let his hands so much as twitch.

“Look at you. Like a work of art.” Tony groaned and thrust against him. “Good boy.”

Steve looked up, drinking in the sight of Tony moving above him, looking down at Steve wide-eyed with pleasure. Steve memorized it all: the strong line of Tony’s jaw, his goatee, seen from below; the curve of Tony’s muscular shoulders, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; the glow of the arc reactor, nestled by Tony’s heart like a tiny stained glass window. Tony threw his head back, shaking his hair from his eyes.

“I could do this for hours,” Tony said, “could just hold you down and make you take it.” Tony squeezed Steve’s wrists and thrust up against him, still murmuring, his voice rich and filthy, “You’d love it wouldn’t you, babe?” 

Steve nodded and watched Tony move, taking pleasure from his body. 

“Listen to you, whimpering and panting. It’s beautiful, Steve. You make the most delicious noises.”

(You like it, you like to know how good it is for me, you want to hear me . . . )

Steve let out the moan he’d held in earlier and jerked his hips up against Tony’s. Tony moved harder and faster against him. As Tony thrust between his legs, Steve was overwhelmed by the thought that soon, very soon, that would be Tony fucking him, holding him down like this, opening him up, pushing his cock deep into Steve’s body and—

“Fuck! Tony, oh God—” Steve cried out and arched beneath him. Tony bit his lip and his eyelids fluttered. Steve rocked against his lover, urging him faster. Tony was panting, harsh and heavy, and Steve could feel the heat pooling in his belly again, the pressure building. “Tony, Tony . . . fuck! Oh God.” He moaned. 

(I want to make you lose control.)

Tony’s thrusts sped urgently, and Steve stared up at him, trying to hold himself back. He watched, unwilling to close his eyes even for a moment. Tony’s fingers tightened around his wrists, then his head dropped forward, his lips parted. Tony’s body went stiff and his eyelids fluttered; his expression looked half-pained as he let out a sharp cry, and came in a hot rush between them.

(Beautiful, beautiful. I did that! I made Tony come. *I* did.) Steve gasped, jerked his hips—once, twice—and came.

Tony released his wrists and fell forward, burying his face against Steve’s neck. Steve reached up to wrap Tony in his arms as they laid together, gasping and shaking, slowly coming back down. Tony held him and whispered, words soft and warm against Steve's temple, “Shhh . . . I’ve got you . . . you’re beautiful . . . I’ve got you, babe. . .”

Steve was still feeling a little fuzzy around the edges as Tony lifted himself up again. Steve blinked. The smile Tony gave him was beautiful. (You look *happy.* Actually happy.)

Tony kissed Steve gently on the lips and whispered, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” 

Steve wanted to protest but couldn’t find the energy or verbalization . . . thing. . . necessary. The bed was cold without Tony, but in a few moments he returned with a hot washcloth and a glass of water. Tony wiped the drying come from Steve’s stomach, hips, and thighs, and then, very carefully, from Steve’s over-sensitized cock. (He couldn’t tell if it hurt or tickled, but was glad when Tony was done.) Tony dropped the cloth on the floor and climbed back into bed. Steve took the glass of water and drained it gratefully. 

Tony pulled Steve into his arms and with a happy sigh Steve curled up around him, nuzzling his chest. Tony rearranged the pillows and pulled the blankets close around them.

“Are you all right?” Tony asked quietly. Steve nodded, then lifted up to kiss Tony softly on the lips and look him in the eyes. (I love you, I love you, I love you. . . .) Tony smiled back and Steve settled in his arms again.

Tony stroked his back soothingly, up and down, and murmured sweetly, “You’re so amazing, Steve . . . so wonderful . . . I’m so lucky . . .”

Little by little, Tony’s hands slowed and the soft litany of praise dropped off. Steve kissed Tony’s chest and moved his fingers tenderly across Tony’s shoulder. He felt so . . . cherished. It was wonderful. (Tony deserved to know that.) 

Steve smiled and pulled himself slowly from his stupor. “Tony, *you’re* amazing and I’m lucky too. You were brilliant. I knew you would be. I love you, Tony.”

Tony was silent. 

Steve frowned and propped up slightly on one elbow to look up at him. Tony’s features were slack with sleep, his mouth slightly open, his head resting heavily against the pillow. (Beautiful, so beautiful.) There were dark circles under his eyes. 

“JARVIS?” Steve called very quietly. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” JARVIS answered, just as quietly. (Probably only at 15%-- he knew the limits of Steve’s enhanced hearing. He was that intelligent.)

“When was the last time Tony slept?”

“Sir took a brief nap on his workshop cot seventeen hours ago, Captain,” JARVIS answered, then added, “But over the past forty-eight hours, Sir has had eight hours and thirty-six minutes of sleep total, achieved in the form of short naps on his desk or cot.” 

Steve shook his head and sighed. 

“Thank you, JARVIS.” 

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” 

Steve kissed Tony’s bare chest again, right beside the arc reactor, and smiled up at him.

“I love you, Tony. And I’m going to tell you all of that again tomorrow.”

With that, Steve nestled down in Tony’s arms again, gave a contented sigh, and fell into a deep, satisfying slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! *blushing like Steve* Hope you liked it! :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony swam up from his rest slowly and lazily, only reluctantly abandoning the sleep of the hard-working and well-fucked. (Wait!) He reached out. There was nobody there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely Mary for acting as my consulting beta!

Tony swam up from his rest slowly and lazily, only reluctantly abandoning the sleep of the hard-working and well-fucked. (Wait!) He reached out. There was nobody there. Tony cautiously cracked one eye and, yep, he was in Captain America’s room looking straight at that famous painting (the one by what’s his face… Pepper liked him…) and confronted with an ungodly amount of sunlight. (No, seriously, how could that much light be allowed? Who would want that? And so early? Argh.) 

Tony shut his eye again. So, he woke up alone. It was totally no big deal and didn’t cause him so much as a moment’s anxiety. Seriously, not even a moment. This was Steve. He wasn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em sort. (Unless Tony had done something horribly wrong last night without realizing it, which he was pretty sure he hadn’t. Yeah.) Tony listened for noise from the bathroom. Okay, nothing. So, maybe waking up a bit was a good idea. He rolled away from the window and cautiously tried cracking his eye again. 

And there, neatly safety-pinned to Steve’s pillow, was a thick piece of cream-colored paper which read, in Cap’s precise print:

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Dear Tony-- 

You’re amazing. You were brilliant, just like I knew you would be. I’m such a lucky man.

I was ravenous, but I hated to wake you. I’ve gone to make us some breakfast. (And, yes,  
Tony, I’m making you *coffee.*) I’ll bring it in when it’s done in case you’re ready to get up.

I hope you slept well.

Love,  
Steve  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And Tony wanted to laugh, (probably should—I mean, ‘Dear Tony,’ and safety-pinned! Who does that?), but the sound caught in his throat and he found his fingers reaching out to smooth the rumpled edges where he must have crushed it in his sleep. 

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Sir?”

“What time is it?”

“9:42 am, Sir.” 

“And when did Steve hit the kitchen?”

“Thirty-seven minutes ago.”

“Fine.” Tony pressed his face between the pillows. They smelled like sex and Steve. (And for the first time those two things were together, not separate. How crazy was that?) “JARVIS? Dim the damn lights, would you?” 

“I regret I am unable to adjust the brightness of the sun, Sir, and, as this room is not equipped with electronic shades, I am unable to assist you.” 

“Wha—?”

“I believe you ordered manual drapes to avoid overwhelming the Captain with too much technology early in his tenure here.” 

“Bloody stupid thing to do,” Tony muttered. He sighed and stretched and, boy, did that feel good. And, since there was nobody watching (except JARVIS who didn’t count) Tony reread Steve’s silly little note (once or twice) then closed his eyes.

It had gone well, hadn’t it? 

Everything was fine. Tony had done okay. No, not okay. *Brilliantly.*

(Ha! Research, mothafuckas!!!)

Tony smiled at the sound of footsteps in the hall and a moment later Steve bumped the door open with his hip. He was carrying a huge tray, piled with things that smelled delicious. He hovered in the doorway looking pensive.

“Steve?” Tony called, propping up a little. 

“Good morning,” Steve said. He shut the door with his foot and came forward with a brilliant smile. He held up the tray. “I made breakfast.” 

Tony sat up, gathering the covers around his nakedness, the sheet tucked up under his armpits. (Stupid. Should have grabbed your shirt before Steve got back.)

“Coffee!” Tony cried out with a grin. “You really do love me!” He grabbed the mug and took an eager gulp. (Too hot. Didn’t matter. Coffee!)

“Yes, Tony,” Steve said. (Seriously, earnestly.) “I really do.” And Steve was smiling his shy, awkward, hopeful smile again. He set the tray on the bed and sat beside it. “I wasn’t sure what you might be in the mood for, so I just made a lot of breakfast.”

Spread out on the large tray, (and who knew Tony even owned trays?) was a pile of pancakes, fresh fruit, sausages, bacon, a huge omelet (Swiss and asparagus?), and home fries. Tony gulped down more coffee as fast as he could. (They were probably going to talk. About feelings. He’d need the caffeine.)

“Geeze, Steve,” Tony said, looking at the heaping plates. “How many people are coming to help us eat this?”

“Well, I saw Bruce in the kitchen and shared some with him, and I was pretty hungry so I sort of nibbled while I cooked, but this is all for us.” Steve paused then added, “I hope you like it.” 

(And a while ago, Tony might have cracked a joke—“you’ll make an amazing housewife someday,” or “you’re officially gay—you like brunch!” or even, “hey, did I ever tell you about the time I made an omelet for Pepper?” but none of them sounded right.)

“Thank you, Steve,” Tony said. (Earnestly, seriously—and it sounded like he was saying something else entirely.) He took another long sip of his coffee, then forked a little bit of everything onto a plate and propped up against the headboard. Steve was looking very intently at the food. (Pensive or worried? Hard to say.) Steve poked at his home fries, but didn’t eat any.

(“Affirmation and reassurance.”)

Tony took a bite of pancake and moaned. Steve looked over at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“This is delicious,” Tony said. “How have I not had this before?”

“Um, by never being awake at breakfast?”

“Oh, right. Terrible idea, that. It ends now!” Tony took a bit of bacon and added, “Breakfast. It’s on. I’ll just want it, you know, at dinner time.” 

“Sure, Tony,” Steve said. “I can do that sometime.” 

Tony skewered his sausage and let out another little moan as he took it in his mouth. Steve looked up from prodding his plate and Tony waggled his eyebrows. Steve rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. 

“Tony, that’s—“ Steve waved a hand, trying but not really succeeding in looking disapproving.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “A sausage joke. Which is to say, a cock joke—“

“—*juvenile.*”

“—and cock jokes are *always* funny. Seriously, there are essays out there—‘Since the dawn of time, cock jokes have been funny’ or ‘Throughout human history, the cock joke has delighted audiences.’”

And now Steve was letting out this unwilling little chuckle and actually eating his pancakes. Tony smiled, but after a few bites Steve slowed again and went back to moving his food around on the plate. 

(Oh fuck. Say something, Stupid.)

“Steve?”

“Mmmm?”

“I—“ (Words, Dummy. Come on—you’re supposed to be awesome at talking. You never shut up…) “You’re the best and, I. . . Thank you for the note.” 

“Oh!” Steve gave him a little smile. “Sure, Tony. I--” Steve shrugged. “I wouldn’t have liked waking up alone, so I just thought . . .”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded. “Thank you.” 

They ate in silence for a few minutes. (Okay, Steve’s eating again. Does that mean we’re good?) Tony devoured the apple-chicken sausage and then rapidly demolished the home fries, wishing for hot sauce. Still, quite tasty. He drained the last of the coffee and turned his attention back to his still-sizable stack of pancakes. (Why was he so hungry anyway?)

After a few long, quiet moments, Steve set his fork down. (Uh-oh.)

“Tony?” Steve said. 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” Steve was looking at him with those huge blue eyes, and that little smile and Tony felt ridiculous for the weird swooping feeling it caused in his chest. 

Tony blinked and asked stupidly: “Like, like a date?”

“Yes,” Steve said, all earnestness. “A date.” 

(Duh.)

“Yeah, sure.” (Fuck! That sounded dismissive.) “I mean, yes! Yes, of course I will.” 

“Good.” Steve nodded and returned his attention to his plate, but a few moments later, he added, “I just feel like I’ve gone about this a bit out of order and I want to do it right. I want to take you out.” 

“Okay,” Tony said smiling. “I want to take you out too. Oh, man! There are some *amazing* restaurants you’re just gonna love.” Tony waved a hand enthusiastically; he was still holding a slice of bacon. “There’s this Japanese place that, hey, no—don’t give me that look. Your pick tonight! Japanese can wait!” Tony took a bite of bacon, then said suddenly, “Hang on-- does this mean we’re taking your bike instead of one of my amazing cars?”

“You love my bike, Tony,” Steve said. Tony groaned. “My bike is aces! And I know that you’ve snuck into the garage to give her upgrades behind my back, so quit pretending.”

“Fine. Yes date, and, yes motorcycle.” Tony took a bite of pancake. Steve was fidgeting and avoiding Tony’s eyes again. He was obviously still on edge about something. 

(Just ask. Be direct, stupid.)

“What is it, Steve? What’s wrong?” Tony asked. 

“Nothing! I mean, I just wanted to make sure that--” Steve frowned, struggling for words. He set his plate aside and took a deep breath. “Tony, back— back before . . .” 

Steve almost never talked about the war or the forties, except in passing. Tony leaned closer and took Steve’s hand, drawing little circles with his thumb on the back of it. (Tony had always found that soothing.)

Steve spoke, his voice calm and quiet, his gaze fixed and unfocused on the carpet: “Sometimes, during the war, soldiers would get off together. Sure, you could be court-martialed or at least blue ticketed, but there was a war on so if you were careful, discreet, kept it real quiet, lots of people would turn a blind eye. There weren’t many women around, so if it was just a physical thing to work off some steam, it didn’t have to be a big deal.” 

(Tony’s chest felt tight. It was so easy to tease Steve about his old slang and his trouble with technology--- all the little things that distracted from the vast chasm between the two parts of Steve’s life.) Tony squeezed Steve’s hand. (It hurt to picture him there.)

Steve looked up, something painfully open in his expression. “This morning, cooking us breakfast, I was so happy, Tony. And then Bruce came in and I panicked, certain he’d somehow *know.* It was reflex.” Steve swallowed. “But then, once I remembered myself and calmed down, then . . . then, I wanted to tell him why I was so happy and who the breakfast was for, but—“ Steve’s brow furrowed and he faltered, “I wasn’t sure if you—”

Tony’s heart lurched. Steve took a deep breath and soldiered on: “Tony, I want to take you out on a proper date. I want the others to know about it. They’re our friends, our team.” His gaze dropped. “I’m done hiding.” Steve glanced up at Tony from beneath those ridiculously long eyelashes. “Is that okay?” 

Tony sprang into action, clambering, naked and awkward, around the breakfast tray and onto Steve’s lap. Steve made a surprised little sound, but not a displeased one. 

“Steve,” Tony said, his voice thick. (Yes, yes. I’m sorry, so sorry. . . I should have realized . . .) Tony looped his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him, trying to will down the lump in his throat. “Steve, I want to go on a date with you. Lots of dates with you. I want the team to know. You, this—it’s not some dirty secret. I’m proud of you and I’m proud to be with you.” 

Steve nodded and let out a little sigh. He slumped forward to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

“Hey, no, Steve—don’t thank me. Not for this.”

(And how was Steve even real? How could he be so beautifully just and right thinking, so unpoisoned by the ugly things of his own time?) Tony focused on breathing. (Tony felt so much—it was terrifying.) 

“Steve,” Tony said softly after a few long moments just holding each other. “I want to do this right too.” 

Tony listened and slowly synchronized his breathing to Steve’s, calm and steady. 

“Steve? You done with breakfast?” 

Steve nodded and Tony gathered the tray and plates and set them on the floor. 

“Come here,” Tony said, stretching out on the bed and opening his arms. “Come on, babe.”

Steve nestled in his arms and let out a little sigh. (Yeah, never gonna get tired of that.) Tony stroked his back, slipping his hand up under Steve’s t-shirt. He kissed Steve's forehead. (Only his forehead, ‘cause, yeah—morning breath AND coffee breath. Ugh.)

“I want to do this right too,” Tony repeated softly. (I want to give you what you want, Steve. I’ll try. Just don’t give up on me.) 

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I just--?” Steve sighed. “There’s one more thing.”

(Fuck. More? Okay. It’s fine. Good. See? Look. “Communicating”!)

“Of course. I—“ (What am I supposed to say?) “I’m listening.”

Tony ran his fingers through Steve’s hair. (Yeah. That’s better.)

“Tony, you’re the best.” Tony can feel Steve smiling against his chest. “I want to kiss you ‘good morning’ when you come up from the workshop and I want to cuddle on the couch during movies and I want take you out on nice dates.” 

Steve was stroking Tony’s chest as he spoke, fingers skating near the arc reactor then retreating again. (Huh. Not sure how to feel about that.)

“I want all of that, but—“ Steve twisted around to make eye-contact, “is it all right not to let the team know about . . . what I want? The way we are together in bed?” 

(Oh, thank God! Is that all? Okay, don’t laugh, Tony. Fine, really, fine.) 

Steve rushed to add, “It’s not that I’m ashamed. I’m not, it’s just that part of me . . . It’s *private.*” Steve looked down, blushing again, and he added in a whisper so quiet Tony could barely make out the words: “It’s only for *you,* Tony.”

And there it was again, that overwhelming rush of emotions—tenderness, possessiveness, arousal, awe—followed, of course, by a wave of fear. (You’ll fuck this up! You always do!) Tony took a deep breath and reached out to caress Steve’s face with his fingertips. (Don’t fuck this up.)

“That’s what I want too,” Tony said, making the words a promise. “I want that part of you to be mine, only mine.” Tony’s arms tightened around Steve. “It’s private.”

And Steve looked up at him, a little relieved, but mostly just *happy.*

Tony felt like he was drowning in unsaid words. 

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Steve asked, smiling and idly tracing patterns on Tony’s skin.

“Yeah, we are.” Tony’s voice sounded awed.

The smile Steve gave him was blinding. It looked like joy. 

“Good,” Steve said, curling up around Tony and nuzzling his chest. “We’re gonna be brilliant.” 

The End of Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you’ve enjoyed it! If you did, I'd be delighted to hear from you... It really makes my day. :-) 
> 
> Thank you for all your kindness!


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